To Paint Crimson Death
by NuadaoftheSilverhand
Summary: Angelina meets her beautiful Death, and together they vow to paint the world crimson. The only one who stands in their way is a young boy and his demon butler. Madam Red X Grell Sutcliff, deviates from canon.


_AN: This is the first time I've posted something in a while, so constructive criticism is appreciated. :)_

Prologue

Death always seemed to follow Angelina, trailing behind her footsteps like a macabre shadow. The only ones she had ever loved had been cruelly ripped away by its grasp, leaving her barren. She had despised death. It had been a chaotic force beyond her control, leaving only heartbreak in its wake.

It was only when hatred had crept into her heart that she accepted death. Death became her sole companion, offering her the vengeance that she so desperately craved. She became its instrument, painting whores red with its color as a grisly sacrifice to her agony.

She could still vividly recall the first time that she met her beautiful Death. She had stood there in the inky darkness of the alleyway, her breathing heavy from the thrill of her first kill. Blood weeped from the tip of her blade, seeping between the cobblestones under her feet. She looked upon the body below her, the whore's unseeing gaze forever etched with fear. She felt a grim satisfaction knowing that she was the one who had painted those final moments, taking away what the selfish woman never deserved.

It was as she contemplated the corpse's visage that she heard Death, from far over the rooftops. "My my," a voice purred. "You certainly went to town on her, didn't you?" Angelina spun around and saw his figure upon the rooftops, looking down on her with a feral, inhuman grin.

The soft glow from the moonlight illuminated his flowing, crimson hair, and as he leaped from the rooftop it trailed behind him like a cascade of blood. Such a height would have surely killed a normal man, but he landed with barely more than a sound, the clicking of his heeled boots the only sound in the decrepit alleyway.

Angelina felt her heart race as he approached, and she tightened her grip on her blade. "What are you?" She demanded. She tried to keep her voice steady, but a tremor of fear still escaped. "No man could survive such a fall."

The man chuckled, eerie green-yellow eyes observing her from behind red glasses. "You are indeed correct, Madam, but I am no mere man." He bent at the waist into a flourishing bow. "I am Grell Sutcliff, grim reaper. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"You are...Death?" She asked, feeling a thrill of apprehension.

"I am, yes, among others. There are many of us traversing London at night, collecting the souls of the dead. It can be rather mundane at times; it's not often that I come across one as dazzlingly talented as yourself."

"I thought that only the dying could see Death," Angelina said cautiously. She angled her blade up defensively, and Grell raised an eyebrow.

"Generally speaking, that would be correct. You have no need to fear me, however. I have no intention of reaping you." He eyed the grisly scene before him and smiled, his sharp, jagged teeth glinting in the dim light. "I am simply an admirer of your work."

She felt like the figure before her was surely an apparition, and she tentatively reached out to stroke his lapels. His coat felt soft and warm under her touch, and very much real.

"What is it that you want, then, Grim Reaper?"

He reached out and grasped the hand that held her blade, running his gloved hands across her knuckles. She inhaled sharply and he stepped closer so that he was almost flush against her, his breath trailing against her ear. "I wish to help you."

Angelina turned so that she met his exotic gaze, his proximity so close that she could smell the cloying scent of cinnamon upon his breath. She felt her heart racing again, and he continued to stroke her knuckles, undeterred by the knife so dangerously close to him. "What I want, dear madam," he murmured, "Is to see every last whore in London painted with beautiful crimson blood."

Her lips curved into a ghost of a smile, and she breathed, "I think I would like that very much, Grell Sutcliff."


End file.
